The Madness of Lily Evans
by perilousgard
Summary: Lily Evans struggles with urges she has regarding one James Potter. Unfortunately, he's not making things any easier for her.  Written for mwpp mischief


This was done for mwpp_mischief on livejournal. The fest is done, and the prompts posted were really terrific, well worth a look! Here is the prompt I responded to:

"_It's hard to argue when  
you won't stop making sense  
But my tongue still misbehaves and it  
keeps digging my own grave with my"  
-Snow Patrol, Hands Open_

**The Madness of Lily Evans **

Ah, the library.

I do not hesitate to say that it may be my favourite place in all of Hogwarts. And it's not because of the books, although those are certainly a bonus.

It's because the library is a James Potter-free zone.

It is, in fact, always free of all the Marauders (I don't count Remus—he really is a lovely fellow, and in fifth year I very seriously contemplated dating him, but that is beside the point.) Now that James and I are sort of—well, in a way—kind of—mates, I spend time with his gaggle of friends more often than I ever did before. Every once in a while, their ridiculous boyishness gets to be a bit much and I have to escape.

It's actually becoming a lot harder to breathe around James Potter.

And it's not because I find him infuriating.

It's because—because before James and I were mates, I never had these weird, absolutely _mad… urges_.

Like the other day. James and I were sitting in the common room going over some Head things. Well, we were, until James suddenly started rambling about Peter's new girlfriend, Tabitha. I knew something was wrong when I stopped listening to what he was saying and suddenly became very interested in his hair. I've never really paid much attention to it before, James's hair. In the past it had irritated me to no end because the berk's hands were always in it. But now that I looked at it, it really seemed quite soft and silky. And it was all sticky-uppy in rather lovely sort of way. It brushed his ears and got in his eyes, and when it did that, he sort of puffed it away with a quick breath.

And then I got one of those _urges_.

As James prattled on about Pete and paisley socks (or something like that), all I could think about was how much I wanted to run my hands through his stupid hair.

Which is why I am currently thinking about drafting a letter recommending one Miss Lily Evans to St. Mungo's Ward for the Legally Insane.

The _urges_ are not limited to James's hair, either. I find there are other things on James's person that trigger my _urges_. Like his arms. Did you know that the shirts those Quidditch players wear under their outer robes are sleeveless? I don't think they should be. It only shows that James Potter's arms are far too toned for his own good. And his chest. Apparently, modesty is not a concept familiar to James, because once a few weeks ago he walked into the common room _right after a shower and completely shirtless_ (although he was carrying a shirt with him) and sat down next to me wearing one of those grins of his. Meanwhile, I (and all the other girls in the room) found myself quite distracted.

_Dear St. Mungo's,_

Please admit Miss Lily Evans to your fine facility. She will fit in most admirably on the Ward for the Legally Insane due to her inability to focus on anything but her hormones. Shock therapy may be required to get her to stop conjuring inappropriate images of one James Potter—

Who is currently entering the library.

For quite possibly the first time in six years, mind you, and completely tainting my Marauder-free (except for Remus) zone.

James is carrying a book and looking relaxed and carefree, his shirt untucked and his tie slightly loose—as always. His eyes fall quickly on me, and I can tell by the way his eyes lit up and that James Potter-ish grin appeared on his face that he has only come here to find me. As he walks up, I notice a bit of parchment that I have recently become very familiar with sticking out of his pocket.

Yup.

"I'm surprised you even knew where the library is," I say with a smile, closing and discreetly hiding A Modest History of St. Mungo's.

"Don't need to know," he reminds me, tapping the Map. "It's quite nice in here, though. Maybe I was a bit bonkers to avoid this place for six years."

I roll my eyes. "I assume you aren't just here because you were curious about the atmosphere."

"Perceptive, Evans." He smiles cheekily. "I came to give back your Potions notes. Thanks for letting me borrow them."

I nodd as I take my book back. James missed Potions last week because he'd been sick; oddly enough, he seems to have stopped skiving off class just for the fun of it. (That hasn't helped with my _urges_.) "No problem. Feeling better?"

"Loads. I had so much snot, I started seeing art when I blew my nose," James says cheerfully.

I wrinkle my own nose. "Lovely."

"Yeah, it was. I stuck a few to Sirius's jumper when he wasn't paying attention."

I snort. "You're going to end up passing your disease to all of Gryffindor, putting your germs on other people."

"Always happy to share my DNA," says James.

That makes me laugh. Did I mention that I've developed this horrible habit of constantly giggling around him? I am starting to sound like his fan club of fourth-year girls.

"You're looking lovely today," James says.

I stop laughing. "What?"

"Your hair. I like it that way." He reaches out, lightly touching the hair curling at my shoulders. Goosebumps instantly prickle my scalp and I freeze. _What was he doing! _

"What?" I repeat, like an idiot.

James gives a low chuckle, and steps closer to me. I feel heat begin to rush to my face. "It's just a compliment, Lily. You don't wear your hair down too often."

"That's because it's a bushy mess," I find myself saying. His hand hasn't left my hair. I think my brain has stopped working.

"I like it. Wear it down."

"James, what are you—"

"I just wanted to say," he interrupts softly, leaning close to my ear, "one more thing, before I go."

"W-what?" Is that the only bloody word I know?

His hot breath brushes my ear; I swear his lips touch my skin as he speaks. "I realized I have never told you," he murmurs, as my heart pounds away, "that I love you."

I freeze, unable to utter a single word, and just like that, James is gone.

_Where_ is my bloody owl? I am sending this letter off to St. Mungo's pronto.

Surprisingly, James's little statement did not make things awkward between us at all. When I see him next at dinner, he plops down beside me and starts nagging me about coming to watch Quidditch. It was as if the moment in the library had never happened. We banter, and I fight James over the pudding, and it is all very mate-like.

However, when I get back to the seventh-year girls' dormitory that night, Marlene McKinnon accosts me about a very un-mate-like thing she had seen between me and James Potter that afternoon.

"You're dating him!" she exclaims. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I am _not_!" I say quickly, cursing the flush that I can feel once more on my cheeks.

"Oh, come on. I saw him whispering in your ear at the library. Sweet nothings between classes!" she crows.

"Shut up! James and I aren't dating!" I hiss.

A few girls look round at her outburst. I see (with a guilty sort of pleasure) that Elena Michaels, who dated James for a total of three days in fifth year, is suddenly looking quite sullen. I grab Marlene's elbow and pull her aside.

"We're not dating," I tell her. "We're hardly even mates."

"That's bollocks," Marlene snorts. "You're with him all the time. I wouldn't call that 'hardly mates'."

"We're Head Boy and Girl! We have to spend time together!"

"You're with him when you're not doing Head stuff," Marlene counters. "He sits with you all the time at dinner."

"Well…well, so what? Why does any of that matter?" I honestly feel as though I am being attacked by my best mate!

"Because, it makes my head hurt just watching you two! First it was him dancing around you and now you're dancing around him—"

"I am not _dancing_ around him—"

"Oh yes you are, Lily Evans. You are dancing a one-woman waltz and just waiting for him to come join you."

"…What?"

"Just go snog him, Lil."

"_No!_"

"Why not? Heard he's good at it."

"I don't care if he's good at it! I will never, never allow myself to date James Potter unless he decides to be _serious_ for once in his life!"

Marlene stares at me. "What the bloody hell does that mean?"

I'm notabout to tell her about the whole 'I love you' thing. "Nothing. It means I'm going to bed now."

I brush past her, cursing James Potter and all his attractive attributes.

Our Potions essay—the one that James needed to borrow my notes for—is due the next day. We had to complete two feet of parchment on Shrinking Solutions for Slughorn. It is worth a good portion of our grade, so I am glad I had enough time to go through mine and edit it. I must say, it is one of my finer pieces of work.

I'm settled at my table, unloading my bag when Remus walks in, conspicuously absent of his usual company, and drops his bag down beside mine. (We had been assigned as partners this year.) I give him a friendly smile.

"Hi, Lily," he says, smiling back.

"Hey. Where are James and Sirius?" Not that I care.

"Well, I imagine Sirius is still scrambling to finish his essay, because that's what he was doing at breakfast this morning." Remus shakes his head. "James finished his last week, so I have no idea where he is. He wasn't at breakfast…"

"I know. Wait, did you say he finished his essay _last week_?"

"Mhmm. He seems to have turned over a new leaf…Sirius and Peter keep getting on him because they don't want him to turn into me." Remus's mouth twists wryly. "Sirius thinks that Head Boy badge is absolutely _ruining_ James. Really, though, James has been changing since sixth year. Sirius just doesn't want to see it."

I nod absently, fiddling with my quill. I really hadn't talked to James much in sixth year. We hadn't been anything close to mates until I ran into him over the summer, in the middle of _Muggle London_ of all places. He'd been with Sirius and Remus, but ended up splitting with them to go jeans shopping with me—not that I'd invited him. He just hadn't listened to me when I kept telling him to go away.

Turns out, the bloke has pretty good taste in jeans.

Anyway, it wasn't until then that I'd noticed he was different. He was still a bit arrogant—without that he just wouldn't be James—but it was less the infuriating sort of arrogant that made me want to hex his face off, and more the endearing sort of arrogant that just made me laugh and roll my eyes.

Endearing sort of arrogant—see that? That statement right there is yet another reason why St. Mungo's will be receiving a letter from me.

Slughorn starts class. As Remus and I set up our cauldron for that day's lesson, I can't stop glancing at the door. It'san involuntary action, I swear. Something is wrong with my eyes. I'll ask the nurses at St. Mungo's to check them out when I go.

Really though, _where is James_? If he doesn't hand in the essay, he will probably flunk Potions completely, because Slughorn already doesn't care for him. I'm not really sure why; he earns top marks without even trying. And, Slughorn is really quite a pleasant fellow, nice to everyone. But when James comes round, he gets this sort of irritated look about him. Marlene told me once that it's because Slughorn was in love with me.

Completely ridiculous, not to mention disgusting.

I told her as much.

"And why would that explain his behavior towards James?" I asked.

"Because James is _also_ in love with you!" she said.

Also completely ridiculous.

Because James Potter was _not_ serious yesterday when he said those words.

Nope. Completely trying to get a rise out of me, like he used to.

Remus and I re halfway done with our potion (we were making dittany) when Sirius and James finally burst into the dungeon. Both are tousle-haired and breathless, and James's tie is draped over his shoulder like he had just been running. Slughorn glared at them.

"Nice of you to join us, boys," he says stiffly.

"Sorry," replies Sirius, grinning in a way that clearly says he was not sorry at all.

"Take your seats, then."

As James and Sirius pass our table, James catches my eye and winks. I raise an eyebrow at him, wanting to know why they both look so smug and why they are so late, but I say nothing, and Remus and I carry on with our potion.

"Don't ask me; I haven't a clue," he says, reading the expression on my face.

At the end of class, Slughorn bottl our potions and asks for our essays. Just as I start to stand up, something hurtles past me so fast that I feel a breeze. Startled, I see that James has shot himself from his seat in the back of the room so that he can be the first to hand his essay in. He holds it out, a wide grin on his face.

As Slughorn stares down at it, I watch his face go from ruddy to tomato red in a very short amount of time. He raises his eyes – which are completely devoid of amusement - to James's smirking face.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but this is not acceptable." I've never heard Slughorn sound quite so angry.

In the back of the classroom, Sirius Black bursts out laughing.

"It's not, sir?" James keeps a perfectly straight face, looking genuinely surprised by Slughorn's statement. Merlin, what has he done now?

"No. I'm afraid 'I love Lily Evans' does not count as an essay."

My jaw drops.

Half the class starts laughing, and all eyes swivel over to me.

Oh, he is dead. His epitaph is as good as written, just like my letter to St. Mungo's.

I don't catch up to James until our classes are over for the day. After Potions, he slipped away so fast that I didn't even know which way he went. I finally find him in the courtyard just before dinner, talking to Elena Michaels.

I try hard to ignore the stab of jealousy I feel when I see the two of them. Elena is a slag, and James doesn't even like her, and she has a funny nose, and it doesn't even matter anyway because I don't like James—like that. Finding him reasonably attractive and noticing how much he has matured does not mean that I like him. In that way.

But really, when I see them I want nothing more than to grab James's hand and pull him away from Elena McSlag.

So that's exactly what I do.

I don't even say anything. I just grab his hand and haul him off, ignoring Elena's squawks of protest. James doesn't put up any resistance; he merely lets me lead him away, a slight smirk on his face.

"What's up, Lil?" he asks, as I stop on the other side of the courtyard.

"You should know very well what's up, Potter," I reply, putting a hand on my hip. "I know you've been avoiding me since Potions for a reason."

"Ah, I haven't been avoiding you." He hasn't let go of my hand. "I rushed out because I had Quidditch practice and I needed to change."

"Yeah? Why were you so late to class, then?"

"Oh, that. Well, Sirius was still trying to finish up his essay, so I helped him out a bit. He only needed about an inch more."

"It seems to me that instead of helping Sirius with his essay, you should have been worrying about your own!" I exclaim. James's fingers are slowly threading themselves through mine. Why can't I just pull away? And I am _blushing_ again! I'm supposed to be telling the berk off!

"I finished my essay last week," says James, tugging just slightly on my hand so that I had to take a step forward.

"So Remus said. But what you handed in to Slughorn was not an essay, James."

"Mm, so it wasn't." When had he gotten this close to me? Suddenly I can feel his breath ghosting across my cheek. For a moment, I forget what I am saying entirely as I study James's face. I've never been this close to him before. Behind his wire-rimmed spectacles, his eyes are this nice hazel colour. Had I ever noticed that before? And he has this one freckle—right under his eye. It is…Merlin, I wanted to take his glasses off and kiss it.

Not the _urges_ again!

I blink, realizing that James had said something. "What?"

"I said you're staring, Evans." His voice is deeper than usual. He is still holding my hand, and I suddenly noticed that he has placed it flat against his chest. His shirt is soft, and I can feel his heart beating steadily beneath my fingers. More colour rushes to my cheeks.

"Lily." His voice is right next to my ear.

_No_.

I break away from him so abruptly that it actually takes him a second to register that my hand is no longer his, that our bodies are no longer inches from touching. He looks at me, and his eyes are soft.

"Lily—"

"No." My heart is pounding hard. "I thought—you said we were mates. You said you'd stop—stop this."

"Stop what? Lily—"

"You…we're mates. Just stop doing this." What is wrong with me? I don't honestly want to say these things.

"Lily…I'm just…"

Something in his voice makes me realize something that I havebeen unsure about for four years.

He _is_ serious.

It scares me, and so I do what I always do when I'm scared of something.

I run.

I spend the next few days avoiding James as much as possible. I change the rounds schedule so that I can patrol with Benjy Fenwick instead of him, and I speed through our Head meetings as quickly as I can, giving him no room to mention anything besides business. The weekend is Quidditch, so at least he will be kept busy by that and I can hide in my dormitory.

On the morning of the Quidditch match (it is Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor) Marlene comes up and prods me with the end of her broomstick.

"Ow." My voice comes out muffled, as I am lying facedown on my bed.

"C'mon, Lil, it's Quidditch," Marlene says, prodding me again. "Up, up."

"Ow. Ow. Cut it out, Marlene."

"You can't avoid our fitty little House Captain forever, you know."

I lift my head. "Fitty?"

She grins. "Well, he is. Fit, I mean. Can't help looking."

I groan, letting my head fall back onto the duvet. "I really don't need to be told how 'fit' you think he is, Marley."

She pokes at me with her broomstick again. "I'm not leaving this room without you, Lily. And they can't start the match without me."

"I guess they'll be waiting all day, then."

"Oh no." Two strong hands jerk me up. "You're going to show some Gryffindor pride."

"I think I'd rather take a nap," I reply, batting her hands away.

"You don't have to talk to James," Marlene says, grabbing my scarf from where it is draped around one of my bedposts and wrapping it around my neck. "Just _cheer_ for him at least. He is your mate, you know."

I swallow. "But he doesn't want to just be my mate."

"Well of course he doesn't want to just be your mate!" She look at me like I am a complete idiot. "The whole school's known that for years."

"But he _gave up_!" I cry. "He gave up, and that's why we're mates now! He stopped incessantly asking me out all the time, and he stopped randomly hexing people…"

"He matured, yes. All boys have to grow up eventually, you know."

"Except for Sirius Black…"

"Well, maybe. But that's not the point. James didn't stop asking you out because he gave up. He stopped because he saw that it annoyed you."

"Oh really? Took him long enough."

Marlene rolls her eyes. "You can't blame a bloke for hoping, Lily."

For some reason, I lower my eyes and blush faintly.

"He keeps hoping," she continues. "I'm guessing he's decided to let you know that again?"

I nod. "He's taken a sort of different tactic…"

Marlene sits down beside me on the bed, all traces of ire gone from her voice as she speaks. "Lil, why don't you cut the poor guy a break? You're the only girl he's ever looked at since about fourth year. And he really is a decent guy."

"I know he's a decent guy. He's changed and…he's definitely more mature now, and…well, I do like him." I fiddle with a loose thread in my duvet.

Marlene stares at me. "You do like him."

"Yes."

"And he likes you."

"Well, yes…"

"Then _why are you hiding up here!_"

"Because I'm insane? I've drafted a letter to St. Mungo's, you know."

She laughs. "Come on then, mental patient. There's a nice little bench on the Quidditch pitch with your name on it."

It really is quite a lovely day for Quidditch. Contrary to popular belief, I do enjoy watching the games. I actually tried out for the team in my third year, but I was such a horrible flier that the attempt had been laughable. Since then, I've kept an interest in the sport, but I'm notnearly as obsessed with it as James and Marlene.

When I get to the stands, he teams are currently flying around the pitch. I can pick out James easily enough; he is an exceptionally fast flyer, not only because of his talent, but also because his parents gave him the newest model broomstick for Christmas. He is throwing the Quaffle back and forth with Sirius, who is the other Chaser. Marlene is at the other end of the pitch, beating Bludgers into the air.

I could talk with James after the game. If Gryffindor won. If we lost, he would surely be in a bad mood and I would have to get back to him later.

But, I have no idea what I am going to say to him.

_Sorry for freaking out, can I please kiss that freckle under your eye?_

I've only been avoiding you because I'm hiding from the fact that I fancy the pants off you?

I've been stupid and I really want to be something more than mates?

These nasty urges of mine are going to get my mouth into a lot of trouble. But his misbehaved first!

_I love you._

Does he?

James Potter might love me.

I smile to myself.

A few stands behind me, the commentator—a cheerful Hufflepuff with a head of curly hair—announces the beginning of the game, her voice amplified with a Sonorus charm.

"The Ravenclaw team has come out to circle the pitch! Their new Seeker, Miss Margaret Chang, is looking a bit nervous on that beat up Comet One Hundred of hers…and here are the Captains, ready to shake hands…Ah…it seems Potter has a problem of some sort…he's headed up the field…"

I blinked. James is walking briskly towards the stands, but he doesn't look angry, or concerned. He looks a bit…determined, really. His long legs quickly close the distance between the middle of the field and the stands, and he walks right past my row to where Dorcus is sitting. All of us in the front turn around to stare at him.

"Er, sorry about this…Dorcas, can I borrow your wand?" I hear him say.

"Uh, sure…" she hands it over, looking at him like he was crazy.

"Testing, testing…" James Potter's voice soars over the stands, magically magnified several times. "Oh, listen to that! I sound fabulous. Well, sorry about this, but I kind of wanted to say something before the match started. No—sorry, Professor McGonagall, this won't take long…"

And his eyes suddenly land on me.

Oh, Merlin.

"Lily," he says, and I am sorely tempted to hex that wand out of his hand as I feel dozens of eyes turn to me. "I'm not sorry about what I said the other day. I know you'll probably never forgive me for telling you like this, but I'm sick of hiding it. The only reason I told you that I love you is because it's true. I've fancied you—loved you—for years."

The pitch falls into complete silence. I think my heart has stopped beating.

"If you don't feel the same way, it's fine. We can go on being mates. But my feelings aren't going to change. I just wanted to let you know that."

He hands the wand back to Dorcas and runs back onto the field.

I probably swallow several flies over the course of the game, because my mouth gapes open the entire time.

When Gryffindor wins, I remain frozen in my seat as everyone on my side of the stands leaps up and begins cheering and shouting.

And actually, I'm still hereabout an hour later, just staring. The entire pitch has cleared out; everyone has headed back up to the castle to celebrate. It's started to get cool, and a bit windy, and I know I should go inside. But I can't move. I can't even think.

"Er…Lily?"

I whirl around so fast I nearly slip off the bench. James is standing behind me, still wearing his Quidditch robes.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." He lifts a nervous hand to his hair, and for once I don't find it completely annoying. I smile a bit.

"It's okay. It's probably not good for someone to sit on these benches for so long. I probably have splinters in my arse."

What the _hell_ am I saying? Splinters in my _arse_?

James gives a snort of laughter. "Well, that would make for an interesting and awkward hospital wing visit."

"Yeah…" I brush some hair out of my face, glancing away.

James looks - for the first time since I met him - like he doesn't know what to say. It is very odd, to be sitting in the stands of the darkening Quidditch pitch watching James Potter—cocky, confident James Potter—shift his feet and awkwardly scratch the back of his head. And, at this moment, something change inside of me.

"I noticed you weren't at the celebration party," he says. "I thought maybe you were still down here…I just came to, er…check on you."

I stand up. "Did you know," I start, taking a step up the stands towards him, "that I started a letter to St. Mungo's this week?"

He blinks, obviously thrown by the sudden change in topic. "Er, no. Were you thinking of becoming a Healer?"

I shake my head. "It wasn't a letter of recommendation. Well, it was…but I was recommending myself as a patient."

He stares at me. "What for?"

"Because I'm mad. I'm perfectly bonkers. Insane. Barking. You don't get more mad than me. Look in the dictionary under mad and you'll see a picture of Lily Evans."

James looks lost. "Uh…"

I chuckle, taking a step closer. "I mentioned you in my letter."

"You did?"

"Mhmm. Know why? Because you're the source of my madness."

I'mstanding right in front of him now. He peers down at me, his eyes round in confusion behind his glasses, which are slipping down his nose. I smile and reached out to push them back into place. James looks shocked.

"How exactly is it that I drive you mad?" he breathes after a moment.

"Well, really it's just parts of you that drive me mad. Like your eyes. And this freckle right here." I cup his cheek in my hand, brushing my thumb over the spot, and James's eyes get this glazed look about them.

"Lily…"

"You really have to stop saying my name like that, James."

"Why?"

"Because that drives me mad, too."

Of course, I kiss him. Or he kisses me. I'm really not sure, because I think both of us move our heads at the same time. Our lips brush once—electricity raced over my skin—twice, and then a third time, and his arm slips around my waist, and he breathes a sigh against my mouth when he realizes that I'm not going to push him away. My hands grip his shoulders first, and then slid into his hair…aah, it _is_ soft. He groans, breaking the kiss and pressing his forehead against mine.

"So I drive you mad, huh?" he murmurs, taking my hands.

I nod. "Absolutely. But I guess a bit of madness isn't so bad."

_end_


End file.
